


Pomp and Circumstances

by Desade, Eviscera



Series: Ouchy-Verse [15]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:56:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desade/pseuds/Desade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eviscera/pseuds/Eviscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The banquet welcoming Thor, Sif and the Warrior's Three is already well underway by the time our boys arrive.  Will Clint play nice, or piss off the Lady Sif even further?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pomp and Circumstances

 

Clint stood before the long mirror covering one wall in the washroom, and scowled at his reflection.  There was an unruly bit of hair on the crown of his head that refused every effort he made to slick it down, springing back to attention as soon as the brush passed over it.

"Definitely time for a haircut," he muttered grimly.  "I’m starting to look like Alfalfa."

"Who?" Loki asked as he lazily worked his fingers through his own tresses.

The smell of lavender and mint wafted Clint’s way and he turned to face the god.  In the time it had taken Clint to wash, dry, dress and groom himself, Loki had managed to only partially complete the first step in what was promising to be a very lengthy process.

"Y’know, I’m starting to think you’re taking that whole ‘Princess’ nickname a little _too_ seriously,” Clint replied, completely ignoring Loki’s question.

"Whatever do you mean?" Loki asked, a note of indignation in his voice.

Clint spread out his hands, waving them slightly to indicate his state of readiness.

"I’m set to go and you’re still in the bath, just taking your sweet time," the archer answered.  

Loki chuckled and leaned his head back under one of the wide spouts to rinse the lather from his hair.  

"Then perhaps I should attend tonight’s festivities in my female form?" he teased.  "Would that earn me the right to the title, and the time taken with my appearance?"

"Don’t you dare," Clint growled.  "And so help me, if your Mom wants to yell about us being late, I’m sending her your way."

"Are you _truly_ that frightened of my Mother?” Loki asked.

"I’m not _scared_ ,” Clint shot back quickly.  ”Just…I don’t like that look she gives us when you wind her up.”

"That particular look is one that I grew immune to at quite a young age," the god hummed, running a soapy cloth over his shoulders.  "And I fear that our activities this afternoon left me positively filthy.  Pardon me if I would rather not attend the banquet reeking of our coupling."

"So what you’re saying is that I should get comfortable, because you’re _not_ going to hurry,” Clint stated flatly.

"Precisely," Loki grinned.  "The festivities will go on long into the night, and I promise you that we will not be missed for some time yet."

Clint sighed and hoisted himself up to sit on the counter, drawing one knee up to his chin as he swung his other foot impatiently.  

"You better be right," he muttered.  

"Of course I am," Loki soothed in return.  "Fear not."

Clint wasn’t sure he would call it fear, but it was definitely a form of apprehension he felt whenever it came to displeasing Loki’s mother.  Odin, he could care less about offending, and Thor was good-natured enough to let anything pass.  Frigga, on the other hand, held more than just a little bit of Clint’s respect.  The thought of her disapproval was possibly the best deterrent Clint had ever been threatened with.

It seemed Loki was entirely unconcerned, and he stayed true to his word, taking up as much time in his bath as he possibly could.  In fact, it almost seemed as if he was preening, just to give Clint something to watch.  It was endearing, in a way, to think that Loki would rather have no one else’s attention than his.  If only they weren’t risking Frigga’s ire, Clint would say hang the banquet and join him in the tub.

"Something has your thoughts occupied," Loki drawled as he ran his fingers once more through his hair, looking for tangles.  "Care to share them?"

"Nah," Clint answered, turning away while toying with the rebellious patch of hair on the top of his head.  "’F’I do that, we’ll _never_ get out of here, and your mom _will_ be pissed.”

Loki blinked at him for a few moments before saying, “I do not know why you so fear offending my mother.  You certainly do not show the same reluctance with anyone else at the court.”

Clint just shrugged one shoulder.  “She’s your mom,” he answered simply.

Loki was quiet for a few beats, eyes narrowed discerningly at his Hawk before he asked, “And is that the only reason you offer her such deference?  The fact that she is my mother?”

"Well, she _is_ the Queen,” Clint replied evasively.

"And Odin is _King_ ,” Loki cut in.  ”Yet that did not stop you from referring to him as…what was it again?  Cyclops?”

"That was _one_ time,” Clint huffed.  ”And I said sorry.  It just slipped out!”

"Of course it did," Loki agreed.  "You have a quick wit, and an even quicker tongue.  A combination that endlessly leads you into trouble."  

The god stepped from the bath and plucked a towel from a nearby rack before adding softly, “But you did not answer my question.  Is that the _only_ reason?”

Clint was quiet for so very long, that Loki began to doubt he would get a reply at all.  And as he dried himself, he considered the fact that Clint’s lack of an answer was, in a way, an answer in and of itself.  

Loki knew very little of his Hawk’s early years, prior to the death of the archer’s parents.  And the scant information that had been offered had unquestionably painted Clint’s father as a monster; a drunken beast that had terrorized his children.

But Clint’s mother?  

No mention of her had crossed the other man’s lips.

And when Loki had nearly given up on prying any sort of a response from Clint, the archer cleared his throat and murmured, “Mom’s are just…more important, I guess.”

He felt Loki’s eyes on him, but wouldn’t meet his gaze.  He didn’t know why he said anything at all, to be quite honest.  Conversations like this never went well.

"Clint—" Loki began, and his voice was too quiet and too soft for Clint’s liking, so he stopped him there.

"Look, can we not talk about this right now?" he said, hopping down from the counter and turning back to the mirror to glare at his errant lock of hair that simply refused to lay flat.

Loki’s mouth drew into a flat, displeased line, and Clint instantly regretted snapping at him.  He regretted it even more so when the god left the bathing room without another word and began dressing.  Clint glared at himself in the mirror, the sound of his teeth grinding together much too loud in the sudden frigid quiet.

There was a reason Clint didn’t talk about his parents.  He’d never properly sorted through his feelings about them after their sudden deaths; he’d merely shoved it aside, cloaked it with a sheet and forgotten it.  He tried to cover the anger and hurt and sadness with an irreverent sense of humor, but it was all still there, and he hated it when he was forced to face it; to acknowledge that it was still very much there.

He’d hoped perhaps Loki, of all people, would understand that there were some things he just didn’t want to talk about.

Clint caught himself gripping the marble countertop so tightly his fingertips were white.  He forced his hands open and stood up straight.  This was stupid, he was mad for a stupid reason and Loki was mad at _him_ for a stupid reason and this was so _stupid_.  They were grown adults, they should be able to deal with these things like it.

When he stepped out of the bathing room, Loki was already nearly dressed.  He still looked irritated, and when he looked up at Clint, his brows had drawn together in a petulant glare, as if he was ready for an argument he had every intention of winning.

At Clint’s hang-dog expression, the glare left his face as if a gust of wind had blown it away.  Misery had never been a good look on his archer.  He stepped forward and put a hand on Clint’s nape, forcing him to look up from the floor and finally cross his gaze.  Loki gave him a tiny, fleeting grin and smoothed his other hand over Clint’s hair, taming his cowlick with a simple gesture.

"Thanks," Clint managed, offering a slight smile of his own.

"What would you do without me?" Loki asked, pulling Clint closer to lay his forehead against his Hawk’s.

"Have really weird hair?" Clint offered.

"Yes," Loki agreed amicably.  "Although, I dare say that you would still be rather fetching, no matter how ghastly your hair."

"Kinda think you’re just a _little_ biased,” Clint huffed.

"Of course I am," the god replied.  "You are mine, as I am yours.  As such, I find most things about you pleasing."

“ _Most_?” Clint echoed.  ”Guess I need to step up my game.”

"Nonsense," Loki soothed.  "I am simply understating my approval in order to try and keep that ego of yours contained."

"Good luck, there," the archer snorted before giving Loki a quick grin.  “‘Fraid that ship sailed _long_ ago.”

"Yes, well, you cannot blame me for trying," Loki sighed.

"Guess not," the archer murmured.  "Now c’mon.  We really should be going."

Loki gave a slight nod and stepped away to slip on his boots.  He cast a quick glance at his Hawk, noting that the shadows had lifted from his eyes, and his expression had smoothed.  

But the god was not fooled; there still existed an untapped wellspring of misery inside the other man.  One that would have to be breached someday.

‘ _But today is not that day_ ,’ Loki thought as he rose to his feet.

"Ready?" Clint asked.

"Indeed," Loki replied with a soft smile.  "Shall we venture forth and welcome home the returning heroes?"

"Hey, I’m just in it for the food," Clint chuckled.  "But I suppose we could at least say hi to your brother while we’re at it."

"And his companions," Loki reminded the archer, his smile widening into a grin.  "I daresay that word has spread about your performance this afternoon.  I wonder if the Lady Sif will be more…welcoming at your second meeting."

"Oh yeah," Clint frowned.  "Sorta forgot about them."

As they made their way out of Loki’s rooms, Clint doubted their second meeting would go any better, but he decided he would play nice as long she did.  He could only hope Sif wasn’t a sore loser.  The way she’d stormed off after their little sparring match didn’t bode well, however.  He’d gotten into his fair share of angry scuffles with Tasha to know that look she’d thrown him over her shoulder would have killed him if it were possible.

To be fair, he probably wouldn’t have had a problem with her if she’d kept her attitude with Loki in check.  Clint could really care less what people thought about him, but when it came to Loki, the word ‘protective’ didn’t even come close to scratching the surface.  All it took was a few haughty words and that look of sheer loathing directed at his Princess, and his mouth just opened without a thought to what might come out.  He was kind of proud of himself for keeping it as civil as he had.

"Do not frown so, my Hawk," Loki murmured to him.  "It does not bear fretting over what my brother’s companions think of either of us.  It has never concerned me over-much.  I am well-used to the Lady Sif’s dislike of me.  It goes back many centuries and is not entirely undeserved."

Clint gave him a side-eye.  “It was that bad that she’s still got you blacklisted?”

Loki, surprisingly, gave him a mischievous grin.  “Oh, yes.”

"’Fess up, tell me," Clint demanded.  "This has gotta be good."

Loki looked off into the middle distance, obviously looking back through the memory with a vicious glee that Clint hadn’t seen in his eyes since back in the before time, while they were making plans to attack the Helicarrier.

"Sif has such lovely hair, wouldn’t you agree?" he said, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Uh… I guess?"  The confusion was plain in his voice.

"It was not always such.  There was a time, long ago, when Sif boasted locks of hair the color of spun gold.  It was her one and only concession to vanity."

"Loki, what did you do?"

Loki shrugged, though that wicked little glint never left his eyes.  “There was an opportunity presented and I took it.  A night of too much mead, a pair of shears, and an unlocked chamber door.  The shriek the next morning echoed for leagues.”

Clint didn’t even bother to hide the horror on his face.

"In my defense, I _did_ attempt to make amends,” Loki went on.  “Her hair did eventually grow back, but something unexpected happened.  Apparently, Asgardians do not cut their hair for a very good reason.  It grows back much darker.”

Clint still had yet to say anything.

"I didn’t know."

Clint blinked.

"I know now."

The archer maintained his silence for several more beats before finally shaking his head ruefully and saying, “Wow.  So I guess I shouldn’t ask you to give me a trim?  Don’t wanna end up as bald as Fury.”

Loki uttered a surprised laugh, as quick and sharp as one of his smiles.  ”You have nothing to fear from me in that respect,” the god murmured.  ”I have no score to settle with you.”

"Should I even ask _why_ you decided cutting Sif’s hair off was a good idea?”

"I had my reasons," Loki sniffed.  "All of which, at the time, made my actions seem justified."

"She pissed you off," Clint stated.

"Yes," Loki answered.  "And I could think of no better way than to cut her to the core."

"Not gonna lie, Princess.  That was kind of a dick move," Clint declared, ignoring the glare that Loki turned his way.  "But I can understand it.  Everyone has that _one_ thing they value most, and that’s the key to hitting ‘em where it hurts.  Still, cutting off a girl’s hair?  Hell, not just any girl…but a _warrior maiden_?  Were you _trying_ to get yourself killed?.”

"And try she did," Loki replied loftily.  "Yet here I stand; a constant reminder of her mortification."

"Remind me never to piss you off," Clint chuckled.  

"As if you could ever truly inspire such anger within me," Loki returned softly.  "We may have our moments of strife; miscommunications and cutting words.  But _never_ have I wished you harm.  My love for you outweighs any ire, no matter the cause.”

The corner of Clint’s mouth twitched up into a lopsided grin even as he felt that familiar, sweet ache in his throat.  It seemed he’d never get used to hearing Loki speak so plainly of his love…and yet, he’d never get tired of it, either.

"Well, good," the archer murmured.  "We’re on the same page, then."

"As we should be," the god agreed.  

Loki being spiteful shouldn’t have come as such a shock, but Clint was so used to the changes in him that he had a hard time remembering sometimes that he had, at one point, been (and to a lesser extent, still was) an evil little shit.  Cutting off Sif’s hair was, admittedly, a fairly tame prank.  Mean-spirited, but mostly harmless.

Although, simply because Loki had changed didn’t mean he wasn’t still an evil little shit.  Clint could quite easily see him doing something similar to Stark, should the man ever truly irritate him.  Actually, Clint might like to see that.

"Whatever are you thinking of that has put such a wicked gleam in your eye?" Loki asked, pulling him from thoughts of Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, with a shiny bald head to rival Fury’s.

Clint blinked the image away, finding it too amusing not to share out loud.  “Just thinking of you doing something like that to Stark.  I can picture it now.  He would spend half his fortune on hair-pieces alone.”

Loki’s unaffected laughter echoed up and down the corridor, drawing them startled looks from those gathering for the feast.  The sound drew Queen Frigga’s attention, and called up an answering smile to hear her son’s laughter once again.  She floated towards them, her smile quickly turning to a knowing smirk as she drew nearer.

"I know that sound well," she said.  "You are plotting mischief again."

"Plotting, no, though I must say, Clint has the potential to rival even myself in that arena," Loki admitted.

"Hey, no!" Clint objected.  "Don’t get me in trouble, it was just a thought."

"Most plans begin as nothing more than a passing whim," Frigga said.  "How do you think Loki got the reputation as the Trickster?  An overactive imagination can be quite the weapon."

"I try to keep him too preoccupied to get those ideas," Clint admitted.  "He can be pretty useful when he’s not plotting world domination."

Loki affected to look offended.  “Were it not for my plots, we would never have met.  So you should really be thanking me, I should think.”

"Well, you’re not wrong," Clint agreed slowly, a rueful tone to his voice.

Loki narrowed his eyes, gazing at Clint as the archer held out his hand to Frigga.  The queen smiled, looping her arm through Clint’s and turning him toward a small crowd milling near the archway leading into the banquet hall.

"Come," Frigga hummed.  "I believe there are some dignitaries you have yet to meet, and you would both do well to banish the thoughts I can hear echoing through those heads of yours."

"Whatever do you mean?" the dark god asked stiffly.

"Regrets and poor choices, my loves," Frigga stated.  "All of which are long past, and very much forgiven."

"You don’t miss much, do you?" Clint chuckled.

Frigga patted the archer’s hand where it was folded over her forearm and smiled brilliantly.

"Nay," she said.  "I was trained early, and well, in the art of discerning what lay behind the shadowed eyes of my youngest son.  ’Tis a mother’s most useful skill."

Loki fell into step beside them, as Frigga continued.

"There shall be no despair tonight," she intoned.  "This is a joyous occasion and we shall treat it as such.  I forbid any discord."

"Of course, Mother," Loki murmured.  "There shall be no conflict…on _our_ part.”

"Oh, and doesn’t that sound positively sinister," Frigga remarked.  "I assume that you are referring to the possibility of the Lady Sif harboring anger over your Hawk’s display of this afternoon?"

"You heard about that?" Clint asked, a twinge of surprise in his tone.

"My dear boy," Frigga laughed.  "All of _Asgard_ knows that you have bested a shield maiden.”

"Well, crap," Clint muttered.

It wasn’t his intention to make enemies, least of all here, but it seemed that was a habit that just followed him around wherever he went.  All he’d wanted was to shoot some arrows.  If he hadn’t been so oversensitive about Sif’s attitude towards Loki, nothing would have come of that meeting and he wouldn’t feel like he had a giant target painted on his back.

"Worry not," Frigga said, and it didn’t _sound_ like she was being condescending.  “You did nothing wrong.  In fact, had you not stood up for my son, I would think much less of you.  Sif and Loki have a long history of mutual animosity.  In their younger days, Odin and I were convinced it was because they were destined for each other.”

"What?" Loki hissed, aghast at such a thought.  Clint snickered.

"It was but a theory," Frigga went on dismissively.  "Entirely disproved, of course.  It soon became clear that you simply loathed each other, and there was not much we could do about it."

"I should hope not," Loki muttered.

"Don’t worry, Princess, I won’t let her steal you away from me," Clint cheerfully assured him.  He simply grinned at the expansive frown Loki sent his way.

"You are assuming I would _allow_ such a theft in the first place,” Loki sniffed.

Frigga smiled warmly and tightened her hold on Clint’s arm.  It was these small moments between them that cemented them together, and convinced her that her son was well-matched with the archer.  A mother could not ask for more for her children than for them to find happiness and acceptance.  It seemed Loki had found both.

"There will be no stealing under my watch," Frigga assured them both as she gracefully stepped out of Clint’s hold.  "Now, both of you, go.  I have kept you far too long."

And just like that, she disappeared into the crowd, swallowed up in the throng of guests as if by a spell.  Clint found himself jealous that he couldn’t disappear that easily, and turned back to Loki to find him looking thoughtfully at him.

"What?" he asked, blinking.

"You have managed to impress my mother and most, if not all, of the court in less than a month’s time, and yet the lone enemy you have made is the very same woman I have been at odds with my entire life," Loki said.

"Uh…," Clint said, without a thought to what he might answer that with.  "She started it?"

"Well, of course she did," Loki agreed.  "You were doomed from the start, it seems, for daring to consort with the likes of me."

"Hey," Clint said softly.  "Don’t talk like that."

"It is the truth," Loki returned earnestly.  "Does it not make sense that her animosity toward me would extend to any I hold dear?"

"I guess," Clint allowed.

"There exists no other reason for her rancor," Loki continued.  "Having never even _met_ you, that resentment could have only been born of our connection.”

"Seems sorta petty, if you ask me," Clint mumbled as they skirted around a group of chattering girls.  "Kinda thought that one of Asgard’s chosen warriors would have better things to do with their time."

"Time is something we have in excess," Loki remarked, nodding at the women as they passed.  "Therefore, nursing grievances and forming grudges can become something of a hobby."

"That’s just silly," Clint snorted.

"Yes," Loki allowed.  "Yet that does not deter them."

"She can hate me all she wants," the archer replied.  "Not like I care what some uppity lady-warrior thinks…it’s no skin off _my_ nose.”

"I should hope not," Loki murmured.  "I happen to like your nose the way it is."

Clint chuckled and placed his hand low on the god’s back, ushering him through the archway and into the revelry beyond.

Now, Clint had been to his fair share of parties before.  Working security detail for high-level politicians and dignitaries put him in all sorts of interesting environments, not to mention all the times he’d been undercover tailing someone trying to hide in the open.

However, he had never been to a party on Asgard before.

It fell somewhere between a biker bar and a fundraising gala.  It was loud, rowdy, but somehow _contained_ , as if even in revelry, there was some sort of protocol.  Everyone was dressed like they were going to a wedding, but the men still spilled mead into their beards when they drained their flagons, they still ate meat off the bone, and still called loudly for more when their plates were empty.

Everywhere he looked, Clint saw movement.  People were hardly able to sit still, and they were constantly getting up and moving to another table whenever the thought struck them.  The loudest and most rowdy  group, however, was in the center of the great room, and it was clear even from the fringes that the Prince of Asgard and his war band were seated there.  Clint’s ears picked out the roar of laughter that could only be Thor and wondered what could have amused him so much.

At his side, Loki heaved a tired sigh, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.  “I suppose I should be glad we do not have to waste time _looking_ for him,” he drawled as they made their way to the large gathering.  “I should warn you, from the sounds of it, my brother has long been in his cups.  You are about to see a side of Thor you have never seen before.”

"What, you mean he’s drunk?" Clint asked.  "I didn’t think he could _get_ drunk.  I’ve seen him drink Stark _and_ Natasha under the table, and he didn’t even get buzzed.”

Loki hummed thoughtfully.  “Midgardian drink does little to the likes of us, my Hawk.  Asgardian ale, however, is made for Asgardians.”

"So you’re saying he was cheating?" Clint asked, bemused.  "Huh.  I’m telling!"

Loki offered him a tiny smile as they approached the crowd gathered around the returned warriors.

The large fire pit was ringed with tables and chairs, and at the head of the fire sat Thor, still in his battle armor, and his feet surrounded by the shards of his emptied flagons.  Clint raised an eyebrow at the sight, and also at the very pronounced lean he had adopted, resting heavily on one elbow as the other held yet another drink destined for the floor.

Clint thought it a relief that he hadn’t noticed them right away.  He wanted to hear the end of the story his three companions were telling.  It seemed none of them could quite agree on exactly how many enemies they had defeated.

"Fifty warriors, at the very least!" cried Volstagg, gesturing with his flagon, and sloshing mead onto the floor.  

"I would put the number closer to one hundred," Fandral sniffed.  "They crowded us, on all sides, twenty deep."

"They were beyond counting," Sif chimed in.  "And yet all fell before the day was through!"

"If they were truly beyond the Lady’s ability to count, then the number had to be more than twenty," Loki murmured into Clint’s ear.  "Though I doubt she took the time to remove her boots on the battlefield, so it may have been as few as ten."

Clint snorted in amusement, drawing Thor’s attention.  

The blonde god’s easy smile widened into a grin as he pushed to his feet.  

"There you are," Thor boomed, swaying slightly as he beckoned them closer.  "I had begun to think you had decided against gracing us with your presence!"

"If only," Sif muttered darkly, earning a glare from Clint.

Loki stepped forward and briefly clasped forearms with Thor, his mouth turning down into a moue at the sloppy kiss the Thunder god pressed, in turn, to each of the Trickster’s cheeks.

"Well met, brother," Loki said.  "Quite an accomplishment; besting such a _large_ number of the demon horde, and returning with nary a scratch.  A successful campaign all around, yes?”

"I have scratches beyond measure," Thor chuckled.  "And perhaps even a bruise or two hidden beneath this armor.  Yet nothing that calls for any true worry."

"Of course not," Loki smiled.  "You are nothing if not near indestructible…as I am sure the fire giants were distressed to discover."

Thor grinned in agreement, before turning his attention to Clint.  He pulled the smaller man in, grasping his forearm and kissing each of his cheeks.

"Gross," Clint grumbled, swiping at his cheeks with the palm of his free hand.  "Shoulda known you’d be one of those lovey-dovey drunks."

Thor chuckled, and motioned to his side.  ”Come, sit with us.  Perhaps we can convince you to share a few of your war stories, as we seem to be nearing the end of ours.”

"Yes," Sif chimed in, mock innocence fairly dripping from her tone.  "Perchance the one in which you defeated the Chitauri invasion, and your beloved’s plans for world domination?"

Clint’s gaze snapped to the dark-haired woman’s, but before he could reply, Loki cut in.

"That old tale?" he asked smoothly.  "I think all assembled would be much more interested in something a _bit_ more timely.  Such as my Hawk’s victory of this afternoon?”

"Uh," Clint stammered when all eyes snapped to him.  "I don’t…"

Sif’s eyes darkened with thinly-veiled anger.  “I should think this crowd would like to hear of a true battle, not a scuffle in the dirt.”

Loki’s smile was sharp as any blade.  “Well, yes,” he conceded.  “Everyone here must already know of that scuffle.  T’would be a shame to bore them with a tale the end of which they already know.”

Clint shifted uncomfortably as all eyes swung back and forth between Loki and Sif.  He could feel the tension mounting; boiling rage from Sif and Loki’s freezing animosity.

"Look, can we not do this here?" he asked Loki quietly.  "I promised your mom we’d be good."

"Did you?  I do not recall such a promise," Loki drawled, his eyes never leaving Sif’s, who gazed haughtily back.

"I promised her in my head," Clint amended.  "And that still counts."

Loki finally turned to meet Clint’s eyes, a bit of the anger seeping from his face when he saw the silent plea in the tilt of his Hawk’s brow.  He swung his gaze back to Sif and took half a step back, as if conceding to her, though it was obvious he stepped down only because Clint had asked him to.

Everything might have gone back to normal if not for Sif’s next words.

"Taking orders from your mortal now, Loki?  The tables have certainly turned."

There was a collective gasp from those gathered close enough to hear, and even Thor held his breath at such a blatant show of disrespect.

"Lady Sif," he began in a low rumble, moving to stand between the shield-maiden and his brother.

He didn’t get any farther than that before he was interrupted.  A hand on his arm pushed him out of the way, and Clint stepped up in his place, his face a mask of indignant rage.

"I wasn’t gonna do this here, but I have fucking had it," he said.  He didn’t raise his voice, and it was that more than his words that had everyone on edge.

Loki blinked; he knew that tone.  Part of him wondered if Sif had any idea what her words had provoked.  The other part sincerely hoped that she would find out.

"Lady," Clint began, and it was clear in his tone that he wasn’t using that word in respect to her title, "you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since the moment I met you.  I don’t care what grudges you two got against each other, but you need to back the fuck off."

Low mutterings through the crowd were simply background noise adding to the buzzing in Clint’s ears.  It also wasn’t lost on him that most of the people surrounding them had pulled back a step or two, leaving them in a ring of open floor.

"I take no orders from the likes of you," Sif sneered.

"Me and common sense must have an awful lot in common, then," Clint returned.  Loki was not the only one to smile at that, though he _was_ the only one who did not bother hiding it.

"It is clear you have none of your own, else you would let Loki fight his own battles," Sif spat, throwing a glare over Clint’s shoulder.

"No, I think he’s been doing that on his own long enough," Clint said, and something in his voice, in those words, caught Loki’s breath.

And there it was.  

The full bloom of protectiveness that still caused an ache to rise in Loki’s throat whenever his Hawk deemed it necessary to shield his god.  The willingness the archer showed in taking on whatever burdens that Loki had always shouldered alone.  

It was but one of the many reasons that Loki was thankful for Clint.

That ache was now tempered with a bit of wariness as Loki observed the small tremors running through the solid frame standing between him and Sif.  

Clint was thrumming with rage; his hands balled into tight fists, shoulders tense, and mouth turned down in an impressive scowl as he waited for the shield-maiden’s reply.

"And what, pray tell, gives you the right to intervene?” Sif asked, pushing to her feet.  ”Do you presume to know all that came before you, archer?  The ill-will between Loki and I predates you by _ages_.  What do you know of our grudges or battles?”

"I know enough," Clint shot back.  "And the reason I know?  Because he _told_ me.”

"Oh, yes," Sif spat.  "I am certain he wove you a lie in which he is the blameless victim and _I_ the monster!  Is it any wonder then, that you defend him so doggedly?”

"That’s the funny thing, actually," Clint returned.  "Loki didn’t lay any blame either way.  And I told him that the hair thing was kinda dickish, even for him."

Sif blinked in surprise, and opened her mouth to retort, but Clint continued on.

"But see, that’s what makes us work so well, Lady.  We don’t _lie_ to each other, and we can call a spade a spade when needed.  We may have had a rough start, as you like to point out so very fucking often, but we’re past that now.  Loki did his time, and he _worked_ to earn my forgiveness.  I got over myself…maybe it’s time _you_ did the same.”

He had to admit, it felt good to get all of that off his chest.

Sif was still looking at him as though she would like to spit-roast him over the fire, though.  Clint wasn’t surprised; this was the second time today a mortal had challenged the Goddess of War, and it would have been odd if she _hadn’t_ wanted to kill him for it.

Didn’t mean he was going to let her have her way.  Not this time, and not for this reason.  Loki had worked too hard and come too far for her to trivialize it all because of some stupid grudge she held since they were kids.  It was obvious that they were no longer who they had been all those ages ago.

Which was why Sif’s hatred of Loki made no sense to Clint.  Had a thousand years in Hel not been enough to erase his debt to her?  It had been more than enough to erase his debt to Clint, his world, _and_ just about everyone else in Asgard.  Why, then, could Sif not simply accept that Loki had changed?

Unless her anger wasn’t directed at Loki at all.  Or at least, not because of what he had done to her, personally.  Was it on someone else’s behalf?  Had Loki caused harm to someone she cared about?

Well, duh, Clint realized in a sudden flash of clarity.  Loki had, of course, told him the tale of Thor’s banishment, and of his exile to Midgard.  He had told him how Sif had led the others into defying his orders to find Thor and return him to Asgard to retake the throne.  At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, but it made sense now.

Thor was the reason for Sif’s hatred.  Or rather, her feelings _for_ him.  Loki had betrayed Thor, or so she believed, and for that, she would never forgive him.  To find that Thor himself not only forgave him for his crimes, but also embraced him as his brother once again, must sit like a lead weight in her stomach.  Adding insult to injury, Loki now had Clint at his side, the one person he had harmed above all else was willingly cleaved to him and stood in his defense.

_Oh, that’s gotta sting_ , Clint thought to himself, and felt an odd pang of sympathy for the woman.  The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that he had, once again, hit his target without really even trying to aim.

"I believe my Hawk has made his position clear," Loki said into the silence that had descended.

Clint finally took the time to look around, only to see everyone in the circle of firelight had their eyes on the two of them in the center.

Sif’s face seemed to smooth over into something bland and unreadable.  “Yes, I would say he has,” she agreed before turning and stalking away, and those in her way hurried to make a pathway for her until she was out of sight and lost in the crowd.

Clint watched her go with very mixed feelings.  He didn’t feel like he’d won anything with that little show, and there was definitely more he would like to say to her now that he firmly suspected the truth.  That would have to wait for another time, though, because it wasn’t long after she’d left that he felt the heavy weight of Thor’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him to sit next to him at the head of the fire.

"Another battle has been fought, and you survived intact!" he said loudly, and that seemed to break the tension surrounding everyone gathered.

"Yes, he has quite the talent for that, does he not?" Loki asked fondly, taking the seat beside Clint after carefully kicking a shattered flagon from his path.

"Indeed!" Thor bellowed, and Clint winced at the ringing in his ear at the sound.  "A drink for the Hawk!" he called, and suddenly there was an overfull mug in his hand.

"Uh," Clint looked down into the honey-colored liquid.  "Don’t think I should—"

Loki leaned over and murmured in his ear.  “It would be a great offense if you refuse it.  Just humor my oaf of a brother this one time.  I will make it up to you.”

Clint just gave him a helpless look before taking his first sip.  It didn’t so much burn as numb his mouth and throat, and it felt like a small bomb had gone off in his stomach.

"Okay, whoa," he choked after his tongue had recovered.  "We need to bring some of this back.  I think it might actually get Cap drunk."

Thor’s laughter rang throughout the hall.

Loki’s eyes skipped over the dispersing crowd, noting the lingering glances cast at his Hawk, and the small smiles of approval found on many of the faces.  

The archer had handled himself well in the face of a furious shield-maiden; not backing down, not showing an ounce of fear.  This, as much as his display at the archery range, had won him an ever higher measure of respect from the citizens of Asgard.

As Loki’s gaze skimmed the crowd, he caught sight of a familiar form, standing still and focused just at the edge of his peripheral vision.

The god’s breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to remain calm.  It would not do to allow his mask of serene calm to slip now…not when they were so very close.

"Come now, Hawk," Thor prodded.  "Surely you have tales of valor to share?"

"Nah," Clint replied, shaking his head.  "My stories don’t measure up to yours.  Terrorists and mercenaries are pretty boring compared to fire demons."

"Nonetheless," the Thunderer said.  "I have told my companions of your many skills and they are eager to hear more."

Clint waved Thor off, saying, “Look, this is _your_ night.  I’m not so big-headed that I’m gonna roll in here and start playing the ‘Look at ME’ game.  You’d need Stark here for that.”

Besides,” the archer added with wicked grin.  ”Don’t wanna steal your thunder.”

Thor uttered a throaty chuckle before stating, “I see that my brother is no longer the only wordsmith we have amongst us!”

"Just a pun, big guy," Clint shrugged.  "I’ve got _tons_ of ‘em.”

Thor turned to the Warriors Three as he motioned toward Clint with his flagon.  ”Do you now see why I held the Hawk in such high regard?  He is fearless, modest, and refuses to back down from any foe.  He is a warrior, born and bred of Midgard, yes…but worthy as any Asgardian!”

"You’re gonna make me blush, if you keep that up," Clint muttered before taking another sip of mead.

"You have not overstated his strengths," Fandral offered slowly, a pensiveness in his tone.  "And that is rare from the crown prince."

As Thor turned a stony glare upon the swordsman, Fandral mock-whispered to Clint, “He _does_ tend to exaggerate.”

"Quiet, you blackguard," Thor rumbled.  "I may…expand upon certain aspects of stories.  But more for the entertainment of the listeners than for any sort of personal glory!"

The Thunderer fell quiet for a long moment, giving Clint an appraising look before continuing.

"But in this?  Never have I spoken an untrue word.  This man is worthy beyond measure…and as such, I deem him worth to join my family…to cleave to my beloved brother..and to stand by my side in any battle."

Thor pushed to his feet, draining the last of his mead before sending the flagon to shatter on the stones underfoot.

"Clint Barton," the blond god boomed, his voice carrying throughout the hall.  "I would name you my shield-brother.  What say you?"

At first, Clint thought the alcohol had rendered him temporarily deaf.  He was still looking at the pile of broken shards at Thor’s feet trying to calculate just how many had been shattered there when he noticed the utter stillness that had come over the hall.  When he looked up, he was startled to see _everyone_ looking at him.

"I—what?" he stammered.  He turned wide eyes to Loki, who was gazing at him in amazement.  "Uh…"  He looked back up at Thor and blinked several times to rid his vision of the haze that had suddenly come upon him.

"Come now," Thor prompted.  "Surely you are not so addled that I need repeat myself."  He hauled Clint upright good-naturedly by the front of his tunic and pulled him into a one-armed embrace.

No, the alcohol hadn’t put that much of a hamper on Clint’s senses, but he was still having a bit of difficulty understanding what was going on.  He’d heard Thor call him ‘shield-brother’ before, and he had to admit, he hadn’t thought much about what that meant, but apparently, this was something of a big deal.  Why else would everyone in the hall be waiting for an answer.

Once more, he looked to Loki.  He was watching them intently, and his expression was almost painful to look at, it was so open.  It didn’t look like he was breathing at all, and his hands had balled into fists so tight he could see them trembling.

"Well, it’s been a while since I had a brother," Clint finally managed to say.  "I do kinda miss it."

There was a confused muttering throughout the crowd, before Thor cajoled them all.  “The Hawk speaks in riddles much like my brother, though in his own way.  If I am not mistaken, he accepts!”

Clint raised his drink in agreement, and the crowd erupted into loud cheers.  Mugs were drained, fists were raised, and hats and even food were thrown into the air.  Clint watched it all with a kind of bemused detachment, as if he was watching a particularly entertaining movie.  He had just enough time to see the pleased smile on Loki’s face before he was crushed against Thor’s side in what he could only assume was a brotherly hug.  Most of his drink sloshed to the floor, but he wasn’t going to be upset about it.

There followed a seemingly never-ending procession of back-slaps and arm-grips, both of welcome and of warning; more than once, a mead-soaked beard dripped onto his shoulder as its owner warned him of letting Thor hog all the glory.

"Save some for yourself," one graybeard ordered.

"According to him, I got plenty already," Clint returned, and the old warrior chortled himself into a hiccup and took his leave.

When finally the celebration was done and the war stories began anew, Loki floated to Clint’s side, a tiny knowing smirk twisting the corner of his mouth.

"Making friends everywhere you go," he mused as he scanned the crowd.

"You were the one who said how likable I am, ‘member?" Clint returned, his words slurred just enough to be noticed.

Loki gave him an appraising eye, then snorted a huff of laughter.  “I do believe you are _drunk_ ,” he said.

"Little," Clint agreed.  "I was serious about taking some of that back.  I wanna see Cap drunk.  Got a feeling it would be hilarious."

"I’m sure it could be arranged," Loki replied, still looking fondly at his Hawk.  "This does put me in mind of the last time I saw you so unguarded."

"Which?" Clint asked, brow furrowing.  The realization spread over his face, and Loki’s smile only grew.  "Oh.  Yeah, that."

"Yes, _that_ ,” Loki echoed, making no attempt to hide his amusement.  ”And will I have to guide you back to our bedchamber when the time comes?”

"Nah," Clint huffed.  "My walk still works.  For now, anyway."

Loki’s eyes twinkled and he leaned in to murmur, “I swear that this time, I shall not rebuke your advances.”

"Promise?" Clint returned, his gaze locked on Loki’s.

"On my honor," the god chuckled.

"Kay, then," the archer replied as a grin spread across his face.  "Gonna hold you to that."

"Of course," Loki agreed and deftly plucked Clint’s flagon from his hand, draining the remains in one long swallow.

Thor whooped in approval while Clint blinked owlishly at the dark god.  Loki’s grin widened as he let the empty flagon fall from his fingers to shatter upon the floor at his feet.

"Another," he said primly.

“‘Tis truly a celebration, now,” Thor bellowed, and thrust his own drink into Loki’s outstretched hand.  ”Loki rarely imbibes!”

"Should I be worried?" Clint asked in a low tone.

"Perhaps," Thor laughed.  "Although, the last time my brother drank with me, he ended the night by proclaiming his love and admiration to all assembled."

"So you’re both lovey-dovey drunks, is what you’re saying?" Clint stated wryly.

"Very much so," Thor agreed, clapping Clint on the back with one large hand.  "Prepare yourself, Hawk.  I daresay that you have an interesting night ahead of you."

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Clint had never seen Loki drink anything stronger than wine, and he only did that because he liked the taste.  Clint himself wasn’t a big drinker; never had been, really, except on rare occasions.  The last time he had drunk anything more than a beer or two was the night Loki had come to drag him out of that dingy bar.

It was no wonder a few sips were enough to make him wobbly.  He was quite pleasantly drunk and was glad enough to pass his drinks on to Loki, who seemed equally glad to accept them.

This was a side of Loki Clint had _never_ seen.  His normally quiet, stoic, reserved god was now laughing along with his brother as he told yet another of his stories, and Clint couldn’t help but laugh along with him.  This sort of laughter was contagious, mostly because he looked like he was about to fall over every time.  More than once, Clint would reach out to catch him before he could tumble from his seat, and he would always lean heavily against him in thanks before righting himself.

"If you can’t tell the story properly, I shall have to take over," Loki scolded Thor when once again, the number of enemies couldn’t be agreed upon.

"How will that make it more accurate?" Thor questioned with a mock-glare.

"It won’t be any more accurate, but at least it will be more entertaining," Loki shot back, gesturing with his nearly-empty mug of mead.  He looked into it forlornly before draining it, smashing it to the ground and waving his empty hand in the air.  Somehow, another appeared without another hand attached.

"Cheating!" Fandral accused, pointing needlessly at Loki, who merely raised an eyebrow as he took a deep drink.

"How do you drink at cheating?" Clint asked, then blinked.  "Cheat at drinking?" he corrected.

"You don’t," Loki said, wiping his mouth less-than-daintily with the back of his sleeve.  "Fandral seems to think I cheat at everything I conjure."

"So, the lube thing is cheating too?" Clint blurted, and then startled at the surprised roar of laughter from Thor.  Loki merely gave him a slightly lopsided smirk.

"I see that drink loosens your archer’s tongue in a rather _delightful_ manner,” Fandral remarked wryly.

"Indeed it does," Loki grinned.  "I have only seen my Hawk under the influence once before, and his tongue was _quite_ loose that evening.”

"Hey," Clint chided, leaning forward to catch Loki’s eye.  "Thought you didn’t kiss and tell?"

"I rarely, if ever, relate stories of what happens in the bedchamber.  But if I were so inclined, I would not waste the tale on anything as _tame_ as you licking my throat,” the god sniffed, pausing to take another gulp of mead.  ”Not when there are so many more interesting things to tell…such as that time you…”

"Nooooo!" Clint cut in, a panicked look on his face.  "Loki, don’t you _dare_!”

"No?" Loki echoed, an amused edge to his voice.  "Are there certain praises you would rather not have me sing?  And how, pray tell, do you intend to stop me?"

The god looked at him expectantly, his now pronounced lean unconsciously mirroring his brother’s.

"There is little that can still Loki’s words once he has begun," Thor offered with a knowing grin.  "It will be a victory, indeed, should you manage to quiet him."

"I know a way," Clint muttered and tangled one hand in Loki’s hair, tugging him down and slanting his mouth over the god’s.  

Loki returned the kiss immediately; fiercely, his right hand sliding up to cup the archer’s nape.

Whoops and whistles erupted around them, interspersed with the stamping of feet and the drumming of fists on shields.  

Thor added his booming laughter to the general cacophony before shouting, “To the bethrothed!  Long may they live and love!”

A roar swelled through the hall, and Clint felt himself grin even as Loki nipped at his lower lip.

"To us," the god whispered.

Clint’s grin widened at the whisper meant only for him.  “I like being us,” he said, his voice a murmur just barely heard over the rest of those gathered.

"Do you, now?" Loki asked, squeezing Clint’s nape just enough to be felt.

Clint hummed an affirmative.  “’S pro’lly the best thing I ever was.  Never was an us.  Just me and maybe someone else.”

"Is that not what an ‘us’ is?" Loki asked, going along with Clint’s odd way of describing things.

Shaking his head, Clint closed his eyes and tightened his fingers in Loki’s hair.  “Not the same.  Better with you.”

Loki’s chuckle was a pleasant rumble in his ears.  “I am glad you think so, my Hawk.”

It didn’t even occur to him at the time that most—if not all—of those gathered were watching them, nor did he hear the varied whispers and murmurs floating through the crowd.  It was the silence mostly that alerted him to the change, and when Clint opened his eyes and looked up, he was startled to see that they had been joined beside the fire by a tall, robed figure.

Loki stood so quickly Clint nearly fell over.

"Rude," he muttered, blinking up at the hooded newcomer.  "Who’sat?" he asked.

"This, I am pleased to announce, is Idunn," Loki said, all traces of his drunken languidness gone in the time it took for him to stand.  "My lady," he addressed her directly with a small bow.  "Forgive my Hawk, he is unaccustomed to Asgardian drink."

Now it was Clint’s turn to scramble to his feet, nearly overbalancing backwards before righting himself.  Loki put a steadying hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

"Nothing to forgive," came the smooth, even voice from beneath the concealing hood.  "I have seen enough drunken fools to know one when I see him."

Clint wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be an insult or not.

"Indeed, I have seen much," Idunn went on.  "Little passes beneath my watch, as you well know, my Prince."  Though her eyes couldn’t be seen from within the hood, Clint could guess at the cold stare she must be leveling at Loki just then.

The god looked properly chagrined at the reminder of his transgressions so long ago.  He said nothing, however, and only waited to hear what the goddess would say.

"My watch has been quite eventful in recent days," she continued.  "The halls of the palace echo with word of a Midgardian who would walk among the gods."

"Tha’s me," Clint piped up, earning a quick glance, and expansive wince, from Loki.

"Yes," Idunn stated dryly.  "I’d gathered as much."

“‘Kay.  Just making sure,” Clint replied.

"Mortals are a rare thing in the Golden City, archer," Idunn murmured.  "Yet, even if they were as numerous as they once were, I would have immediately picked you from a crowd.  Your reputation truly precedes you."

The goddess paused for a long moment before finishing quietly.

"But I would know more of you than the tales relate."

"Of course," Loki agreed quickly.  "Simply name the time, and we shall happily comply."

"I will expect you at my door on the morrow," Idunn said.  "Be there at first light, and prepare yourselves.  The road you have chosen is not easily traversed.  Many have tried, yet few succeed."

Clint gave a quick nod, mentally willing himself into silence.  A million questions flowed through his mind, but he had the feeling that now was not the time or place to pose them.

"You have my gratitude," Loki murmured, placing one hand over his heart and giving another slight bow.

"Hold your praise until I have passed my judgement," Idunn cautioned.  "I have given you only the barest of beginnings, and nothing further has been promised."

"It’s more than we had five minutes ago," Clint said.  "And up until then, we weren’t even sure you were gonna give us a chance at all.  So even that little bit of hope is enough to offer our thanks.  Right?"

Idunn turned her hooded gaze Clint’s way, tilting her head the smallest bit.  He could almost feel her eyes crawling over him; weighing and assessing, even though the goddess’s face was obscured in shadow.

"Yes," she finally agreed.  "I suppose you are correct in that."

And with that, Idunn took her leave.

They watched her go, disappearing into the crowd like a wisp of smoke.  Clint plopped back down in his seat, and Loki turned to him with a frown.

"That was unwise, my Hawk," he said, sitting beside him stiffly.  "You had but one chance to make a first impression."

"Oh, I did that a long time ago," Clint said offhandedly.  "Didn’t you hear?  She’s been watching us."

Loki’s mouth twisted at the thought, but he couldn’t argue the archer’s logic.  “Still,” he said, “you probably shouldn’t let your tongue get away from you like that.  It would figure that she would approach us at such an unguarded time.”

"Smart," Clint remarked.  "Catch us when we _can’t_ fake something, and she gets the real story.  Besides, she was gonna find out I’m a brat eventually.”

"I quite agree," Thor rumbled as he also took his seat.  Clint blinked over at him, and was surprised to realize he’d actually forgotten he was there.  "Idunn has methods of pulling the truth from unwilling mouths that even Loki does not know of."

Clint wasn’t looking at him, or he might have seen the stricken look that crossed Loki’s face at those words.  “I know of enough,” he said sharply, and Thor realized his mistake too late.

"Loki, I did not mean—", Thor began, but he was cut off by the venomous look Loki threw him.

"I know what you _meant_ ,” he hissed.

Clint’s head swung from Thor to Loki, blinking in confusion at the renewed tension he could feel between them.

"’S’matter?" he asked.

"Nothing," Loki said, a little too quickly.  Thor opened his mouth as if to speak, but silenced himself when Loki’s eyes flashed dangerously.  "We should retire now, my Hawk.  We have an early morning ahead of us, and I fear we have stolen enough of my brother’s attention."

"Um," Clint began, unsure at the sudden change in attitude.  "Okay.  G’night, big guy," he said, turning to Thor.  "You throw a hell of a party."

Thor mustered a smile for the archer, though there was a shadow over his eyes now, and Clint didn’t miss the way he actively tried _not_ to look up at Loki.

"I thank you for sitting with us," he said solemnly.  "You are both always more than welcome at my table and at my side.  Goodnight."

Clint rose and followed Loki through the crowd, his brow furrowed as he tried to assess what had gotten under the god’s skin.  The crowd thinned as they travelled the halls towards Loki’s rooms, but he wasn’t slowing, and he wasn’t making any attempts to explain to Clint why they had to leave so abruptly.

"Hey," Clint said, low and quiet and more than a little concerned.  "What’s wrong?"  He jogged to catch up to Loki a few paces ahead of him and reached for his arm.

Loki’s entire body tensed, and for a moment, Clint thought he would pull away from his touch.  He forced himself to endure it, however, and turned a closed-off expression on his Hawk.

"Nothing I wish to speak of," was all the answer he got.

"Seems like there’s lots of things you don’t ‘ _wish to speak of_ ' lately,” Clint remarked dryly as he released Loki's arm.

"I have my reasons," the god muttered.

Clint stood his ground, watching as Loki turned and started away.  He frowned lightly at the tense set of the god’s shoulders, and the way his fists were balled at his sides.  Every motion spoke of a deep, abiding anger.

Loki paused at the end of the corridor and glanced back over one shoulder to ask, “Are you coming?”

The archer sighed deeply and gave a quick nod.  He’d learned his lesson long ago about trying to force Loki into opening up; it was generally a losing battle.  If the god wanted him to know what had sparked the massive mood swing back in the banquet hall, then he’d tell him.  

And if he didn’t…well, maybe that was a story better left untold.

They walked in silence for several long minutes.  Loki stewing in his thoughts, and Clint wondering exactly what had set his god off.  

It was at times like this that the archer realized exactly how much history that Loki and Thor had between them.  Laughter, tears, joy and sorrow…thousands of years of interactions, both good and bad.  

And it could have been any number of things that Thor had clumsily referenced.

"I can _feel_ your curiosity, my Hawk,” Loki murmured.

"Can you blame me?"

"Nay," the god replied slowly.  "But there are slights in my past that I would rather not divulge.  Things that I have done that hold no pride."

"You say that like I’m any better.  Like I wouldn’t understand…or even give you the benefit of the doubt."

"It is not a question of who is _better_ ,” Loki huffed.  ”It is simply a matter of not wanting to revisit a moment of pain.  Could you give me that, at least?”

The thinly veiled hurt in Loki’s voice stopped Clint in his tracks.  

The god walked on for a moment more before noticing that his archer was no longer keeping pace beside him.  He turned, a curious tilt to his brows as he eyed Clint.

"Y’know, if I wasn’t still half in the bag, I’d be pissed about what you just said," Clint declared.  "But you’re a lot like me; you don’t always stop to think how something is gonna sound before you say it."

Loki tilted his head to the side, a question half formed on his lips.

"Not done yet, Princess," Clint cut in.  "You asked if I could give you that, ‘at least’.  Like I haven’t already given you _everything_ I have in my power to give.  So to answer your question, yeah…I can give you that, too.  I can let it drop, and we can skip over that whole messy business where I pry and you clam up.  And you know why?”

Loki slowly shook his head, a contrite cast to his features.

"Because I have the feeling that tomorrow we’re both gonna have to tell some truths we’d rather leave buried.  And it’s not worth satisfying my curiosity about what the hell just happened between you and Thor if it’s gonna upset you.  We’ve had enough upset, don’t’cha think?"

"We have," Loki agreed.

"Yeah we have," Clint echoed.  "So, for now, just forget all that.  You stop obsessing, and I’ll stop wondering, and let’s just go to bed.  There’s time enough for this bullshit tomorrow."

"You are far too good to me," the god murmured, a small smile plucking at the corner of his mouth.  

"Shut up," Clint said affectionately.

It was by no means a concession, but he would take what he could get right now.  Still half-drunk and nearing that stage of inebriation when he just wanted to be flat for the next few hours, Clint was hardly in a fit state for an argument.  Especially not an argument with Loki.  They had a nasty habit of draining him not only physically and mentally, but emotionally, too.  He didn’t want to go to bed mad, and he didn’t want to go to bed with Loki mad at _him_ , so Clint let the matter drop.

They reached Loki’s rooms without any further incident.  There were a few people still milling through the corridors, many of whom gave them knowing smirks as they passed.  Clint rolled his eyes each time, but said nothing.  It was a mark of just how long a day they’d had, and how very done with it they both were.

With the door shut behind them and a quick sound-dampening spell (to keep the sounds of the revelry from waking them, Loki assured him), Clint felt a heavy weight lift from his shoulders.  It was just the two of them, now.  No more curious eyes or whispers that they probably didn’t think he could hear.  Just a dark, quiet room and his god.

Loki went immediately to the window and opened the curtains.  Firelight spilled in from outside, and the sounds of drunken celebration grew louder for a moment before Loki muted them as well.

"The sun will wake us," Loki said quietly.  "We do not wish to further slight Idunn by being late."

Clint worried his fingers over the clasps of his vest before undoing them and shrugging out of the dark leather.  “Do you really think I pissed her off that bad?” he asked.

Loki regarded him for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure if Clint had just asked a serious question or was being his usual, sarcastic self.  He considered that Clint was still drunk, and the last time he had seen him in such a state, the archer had been _very_ candid.  For Clint, alcohol was nearly a truth serum.

"Well, I doubt she has been endeared to us," Loki said hesitantly.

Clint’s face seemed to crumple at that.  “Shit,” he muttered under his breath as he tossed his shirt absently onto a chair.  He glared at it for a few long seconds, so long Loki began to worry.

"I do not believe a few drunken words will sway her one way or the other, my Hawk," he assured as he came up behind Clint and put his hands on his shoulders.

Clint said nothing, just gave a hum of acknowledgment, though not of agreement.  Loki sighed and pulled him against his chest, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

"Tomorrow will be the true test," he said quietly.  "Worry not about what was said tonight."

"If you say so," Clint murmured.

"Come to bed," Loki replied, nuzzling against the side of Clint’s throat.  "Chase those clouds from your eyes and lay with me.

"Gotta get undressed first."

"I can assist with that," Loki cooed.  

The god’s fingers toyed with the laces of Clint’s tunic for a moment before deftly untying them.  Clint raised his arms, swaying slightly as Loki grasped the hem and drew it up and over his head before tossing the shirt aside.  

"Halfway there," Clint chuckled as he turned to face the god.

Loki caught Clint’s gaze, narrowing his eyes playfully as he hooked one finger into the waistband of Clint’s pants.  He tugged the archer forward as he matched him step for step, backing across the room to the still rumpled bed they had left only hours before.

"Patience," Loki soothed, as he perched on the edge of the bed.  "I shall have you bare soon enough."

"You’re gonna teach _me_ about patience?” Clint snorted.  ”Half the time you just wave your magic jazz hands around and my clothes go ‘poof’.”

"You are correct in that," Loki allowed, tilting his head back and giving the archer a smug grin.  "But tonight I would prefer a bit of finesse over instant gratification."

"So what you’re saying is…you’re gonna tease me," Clint stated slowly.

"Oh yes," Loki smirked.  "Mercilessly."

"Thought you said we had to be up early," Clint said even as he nudged Loki’s knees apart and stepped between them.

"There is time enough," was Loki’s answer, his fingers dancing over the skin just below Clint’s navel.  His mouth soon followed, his warm breath ghosting over Clint’s lower belly.

"You always say that," Clint admonished, though he made no move to stop him.  Instead, his hands ran through the dark fall of his hair as if petting him.

"It is always true."

He latched on to one hip and sucked a bruise into the skin, bringing a high-pitched moan from Clint’s throat.  His fingers tightened in Loki’s hair, holding him firmly.  Loki’s eyes flicked up to meet his gaze, and when he was sure Clint wasn’t going to look away, he sank his teeth deep into the skin.

The effect was perhaps more than he had anticipated.  Clint bared his own teeth in a snarl and snatched Loki’s mouth away from his vulnerable belly.  His other hand came up so quickly Loki didn’t even see him move to wrap his fingers around his throat and push him back against the bed.  Clint’s weight came down heavily, pinning him down.

"So aggressive, my Hawk," Loki quipped with a smirk.

Clint’s eyes were fixed on that mouth, and when Loki looked closer, he saw the dark haze of lust his little love bite had inspired.

"Not in the mood for teasing," Clint said gruffly.  His hand tightened around Loki’s throat, his pulse beating hard and fast beneath his palm.

"I can see that," Loki murmured.  "What will you do to speed this along, then?"

Clint’s mouth turned up in a smirk as he released his grip.  Loki watched curiously as he lifted himself on his arms to hover above him.  Then suddenly, Clint took a tight grip on either side of Loki’s shirt and ripped it up the middle with one harsh tug.

"Better," Clint muttered before lowering his mouth to the pale chest.

Loki simply lay back and enjoyed his archer’s attentions, all the while wondering if this wasn’t perhaps what he would have done that night so long ago, had he been able.  Drunken Clint was a much different beast to the one Loki was used to; he took what he wanted, and was utterly unapologetic about the ways in which he went about it.  He did not enjoy playing games, or Loki’s attempts to tease him, to draw things out.  He wanted to use his mouth on his god, and he was damn well _going_ to, one way or another.

Then Loki’s thoughts scattered to the winds, because Clint had just _ripped_ the front of his trousers open and swallowed him down in one fluid motion.  He had just enough thought left to wonder if it was the alcohol that had neutralized Clint’s gag reflex or if he just wanted his cock down his throat _that_ badly before everything was lost in a blur of heat and wet.

Loki’s fingers curled in the bedclothes, gripping tight and twisting as Clint moved purposefully over his length.  His hips twitched up, and a moan fell from slack lips as the archer began to suck.  Clint’s tongue pressed against the underside of Loki’s cock, laving and teasing even as a hum rose in his throat, the vibrations tearing a gasp from the god.

"By the _Nine_ ,” Loki groaned.  ”How you manage to inspire such a feeling is beyond me, my Hawk.”

Clint pulled back with a harsh suck and a quick lick across the head of Loki’s cock before he gave the god a sharp grin.

"I’m just _that_ good at what I do,” Clint murmured.

"I will not disagree," Loki returned, softly, lifting one hand from the covers to cup the side of the archer’s face.

"Good," Clint said.  "Now lay back and let me show you exactly how good I can be."

"By all means," Loki purred.  "Continue."

Clint held his gaze as he wrapped one fist around the base of Loki’s cock and dipped his head, licking up one side and down the other.  The god shivered in response, and nudged his hips up, seeking the heat of Clint’s mouth.

"Didn’t you say something about patience?" Clint teased.

"And did you not say that you were not in the mood for teasing?" Loki asked pointedly.

"Point taken," Clint smirked before swallowing the god back down.

Yes, this was much better than arguing, he decided as he buried as much of Loki’s cock down his throat as he could.  He held himself there for as long as his body would allow, starving himself of air in favor of feeling Loki’s pulse on his tongue.  It had been a while since he had really let himself go like this; usually, he treated this particular act as more of a prelude, another step in the constant game they both played.  This time, he wanted to see how close to the edge he could bring his god before he pleaded for mercy.

Turns out, it was pretty fucking close.  Loki’s hips were making only cursory contact with the bed, and Clint was willing to bet he had no control over the sounds that were leaking from his throat.  The taste of him was heavy on Clint’s tongue, and he was pulling in those short little breaths he was used to hearing just before he spilled.

_Not gonna be that easy, Princess,_ Clint thought.  He clamped his fingers tight around the base of Loki’s cock and pulled back enough to let the heavy flesh rest against his tongue.

Loki let out a pleading whimper and tried lifting his hips to prompt Clint to keep going, but Clint followed his movements.  A frustrated huff soon followed, and green eyes cracked open to look down into amused steel-blue.

"Horrible time to renew your love of teasing, Clint," Loki growled as he raised himself up on his elbows to glare down at him.

Clint gave a slow shake of his head, letting his tongue drag against the underside of Loki’s cock.  A shudder went through him at even that little bit of stimulation, and he couldn’t help but groan as Clint slowly slid back.

"Not teasing," Clint said, his lips just barely brushing the tip.  "But you’re close, and I’m not done with you yet."

Loki raised one eyebrow in question.  “Indeed?  And what sort of plans do you have for me, if I may ask?”

"Ask away," Clint said unhelpfully as he pulled back entirely and got to his feet.

Loki’s eyes were drawn to Clint’s hands as they went to the laces of his leather breeches.  Unconsciously, he drew his lower lip between his teeth at the sight; leather was a _really_ good look on his archer, especially when he was in the process of taking it off.  He peeled the dark leather away to reveal that he was just as hard and wanting as Loki himself was.  He didn’t stop until he was completely bare, and he kicked the last of his clothes aside before taking himself in hand and giving a lazy stroke.

"Outta questions?" Clint asked with a smirk.

Loki realized he was staring, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

"Merely in awe," he said, and made no attempt to conceal the truth of his words.

Clint snorted and bent down over him, propping himself up with one hand beside Loki’s head.  The other was still slowly stroking his length.  “Gonna make me blush, Princess,” he murmured.

Anything Loki might have said in answer was forgotten when Clint straddled him, bringing their groins flush with each other.  He gave a sharp gasp when Clint’s hand wrapped around both of their lengths and rocked his hips slowly.  The silken drag of Clint’s cock against his within the tunnel of his fingers was enough to wipe every coherent thought from his head.

"Stay with me, now," Clint admonished.  "Still not done with you."

So saying, he raised up on his knees and moved forward until he could press Loki’s cock against his opening.  The god’s breath hitched, his eyes snapping up to meet Clint’s.  Clint grinned down at him as he sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch until he came to rest against his hips.

"There we go," Clint sighed, swiveling his hips a bit to adjust.  "God damn, you feel good inside me."

Loki could do nothing but grip his hips and remind himself to breathe.

Clint began to rock slowly, still holding Loki’s gaze, still grinning that wicked grin the god loved so much.  The archer’s hands came to rest on Loki’s chest, feeling the thunderous beat of his heart under his right palm.  Loki’s mouth ran dry as Clint pushed himself up slightly before letting gravity drag him back down.

"Like that, do you?" Clint murmured as Loki fought back the urge to roll the archer to his back and show him _exactly_ how much he was enjoying himself.

"As if you have to ask," the god groaned in reply, prompting a chuckle from the man astride him.

"Figured I already knew the answer," Clint returned.  "But still, I like to hear you say it."

"Yes," Loki gasped as Clint slowly rose again, pausing for a moment before sinking down and enveloping his length once more.  "Yes, this is perfect.   _You_ are perfect.”

"Flattery, Princess," Clint panted, beginning to move faster.  "Y’know that doesn’t work on me."

Loki felt his breath catch in his throat as Clint rolled his hips and tightened around his cock.  The archer’s eyes clenched shut briefly, and he swore quietly as he honed in on that spot deep inside that pushed him ever closer to the edge.  Loki’s fingers bit into Clint’s hips, trying to anchor himself as the heat and friction between them grew.

"It is not flattery provided I am recounting a truth," Loki said.

"Suppose not," Clint ground out, his hands moving to pluck Loki’s own from their tight grip upon his hips, fingers lacing together.  "But you always seem to see me in a more favorable light that I do."

"And someday I shall change that," the god promised.

"We’ll see," Clint murmured, moving faster still.  "We’ll see."

He saw the challenging glint in Loki’s eye, but it was Clint’s goal to keep him too busy for any more words.  He didn’t get to show his appreciation like this very often, and he wanted to make sure they both got the most out of this rare opportunity.

It wasn’t lost on Clint how much Loki felt for him; even when he didn’t tell him outright, it was in the way he looked at him, said his name, and especially in the way he touched him, as if afraid that if he handled him too roughly, Clint would disappear.  They had both come such a long way since the beginning, but those things still held true, and as much as Clint hated the thought that Loki felt their bond was so tenuous, there was a part of him that knew it was only because Loki wasn’t used to having something he’d wanted so much that he was afraid to lose it.  It was new to Clint, as well, being wanted so much.  No one else had ever wanted him even half as much, and he was still getting used to the idea.

Baby steps, he told himself even as he watched Loki’s eyes roll back in his head.

Clint’s grin softened and he tightened the hold he had on Loki’s hands, his only outward sign of the thoughts running through his head.  Loki’s fingers squeezed back just as his hips surged up from the bed, and he sank even deeper within Clint’s body than he already was.

"Fuck!" Clint hissed in startled pleasure.

"Indeed," Loki replied, and gave a slow, rolling thrust upwards.

"Forgot you could do that," Clint panted, and his grin turned slightly to the side in a wry smirk.

"What, move?" Loki inquired with a small grin of his own before doing it again.  And then again.

"Uh huh…," was Clint’s distracted answer.

"Oh, my Hawk," Loki whispered, levering himself upright to put his lips against Clint’s ear.  "I can do _so_ much more.”

Clint’s entire body shuddered and he let out a groan just at the tone of Loki’s voice.  He nuzzled his face against the side of the god’s neck, mouthing at the skin of his shoulder as he weighed the possibilities of what he knew Loki could do.

He was still drunk, only just, but still, his brain was so unused to the feeling that just about any suggestion sounded like a good idea, especially when put forth in a gravelly whisper directly in his ear.

"Okay," he muttered against Loki’s skin.

He felt the god chuckle to himself before his arms wrapped around his middle, holding him flush against his chest.  “So easy to convince while in this state,” Loki mused as he turned them both until Clint was on his back beneath him.  “I feel I must take care what suggestions are made in your presence.”

"Don’t get used to it, I don’t drink very often," Clint said as he pushed Loki’s hair from his face.  His fingers stayed buried, gently scratching at his scalp, almost absently.

"Only when faced with an existential crisis or my brother," Loki amended playfully.

"You _told_ me not to be rude!”

"Indeed," Loki agreed.  "I suppose then I have myself to thank for this."

So saying, he pushed forward, and any petulant retort Clint might have voiced was lost in an almost obscenely loud moan.  Loki’s amusement only grew; it seemed alcohol lowered some of Clint’s more practical inhibitions, such as volume control.

Well, the sound-dampening spells he’d used on the door and windows worked both ways.  There was really no reason why he couldn’t see just how loud Clint could be.

Loki rocked forward again, adding a slight twist to his hips and grinding deep as the archer’s fingers tightened their hold in his hair.  A slight hiss bled from between the god’s lips as Clint tugged him down, moaning into Loki’s mouth even as his thighs edged wider apart.  

Another thrust, harder than the first, and Clint gasped sharply, eyes snapping up to hold Loki’s narrow-eyed gaze.

"That’s it," the archer murmured.  "Use me up, Loki."

Loki’s only response was to wrap one long fingered hand behind Clint’s knee, spreading him further before surging deep into his cloying heat.

The wail that spilled from Clint’s throat served to fan the flames in Loki’s belly all the higher, and the god reared up, a grin plucking at the corner of his mouth as he set about ruining the man beneath him.

Clint shuddered and twisted in Loki’s grasp, his hands fisted in the bed-sheets in a futile attempt to ground himself against the growing friction.  His cries grew both in volume and urgency as Loki’s hips snapped unchecked with bruising force.

"So needy when I have you like this," the god cooed.  "When you have abandoned all pride and set aside any inhibitions.  I will have you screaming before much longer."

"Do it," Clint ground out, eyes bright with lust.  "Take me apart."

"Oh, I will do much more than that, my Hawk," Loki murmured.  "I will take you to the edge, and beyond.  You will spill, untouched, as I ply your body.  I will make you _sing_.”

"Promise?" the archer panted.

"You have my word," the god hummed before bending low over Clint and driving his teeth deep into his shoulder.

A howl tore from Clint’s throat, the pain of Loki’s bite a perfect counterpoint to the bliss rolling through him in ever growing waves.  He bucked and gasped as Loki pulled back slightly, licking over the slowly seeping wound before grinning down at him, mouth stained red.

Clint’s right hand shot up to tangle in the fall of Loki’s hair, and he tugged him down to lick over the god’s lips, tasting the coppery tang of his blood.

"Again," he pleaded.  "Mark me up and make me _feel_ it…”

Loki’s growl rumbled against his mouth before his fingers twined through his hair.  He wrenched Clint’s head back, exposing the line of his throat, his vulnerable pulse beating just beneath the surface of his skin.  Loki licked a hot stripe up one side of his throat and down the other before closing his teeth over the gentle throb of rushing blood.

Clint’s breath hitched at the sting, and a wavering moan bled from his mouth when Loki began to suck and pull at his flesh with his teeth.  He was going to have one motherfucker of a hickey in the morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment.  He wanted these marks, was practically begging for them, and he was going to damn well enjoy them while he could.

When Loki pulled away, Clint let out a mournful whine.

"Such a greedy thing," Loki admonished, and wrapped the fingers of the hand not holding Clint’s hair around his throat.  He turned the archer’s head to the side to admire the blooming bruise he’d left.  He felt Clint swallow against his palm before he nodded.

"Won’t deny that," he rasped.  "You’re not complaining, are you?"

"Oh no," Loki assured him, running his thumb over Clint’s lower lip, and was unsurprised when he drew his thumb into his mouth.  "Far, far from it, my Hawk.  Never before has anyone matched my own appetites.  I am just as greedy as you."

Clint snarled around the digit in his mouth, setting the edge of his teeth against the knuckled.  “Come on and show me, then,” he said.

Loki did not waste time with any more words; the time for banter was done, and he was quite sure Clint would agree.  He drew back and gripped both of Clint’s legs behind the knees, spreading him wide and tilting his hips up to the perfect angle.  Clint’s arms went above his head, twining through the sheets to anchor himself for what he knew was coming.

The first plunging thrust had Clint crying out to the ceiling, eyes tightly shut against the sight of Loki hovering above him.  The second had his back arching so sharply Loki thought he might bend in half, and he had to fight to keep his hold on Clint’s hips before he wriggled away.  The next almost didn’t happen because Clint’s torso did an almost impossible contortion and he ended up with his chest pressed into the mattress and his face hidden in the sheets.

Never once did Clint ask him to stop; in fact, there were no more words left in Clint’s vocabulary at all.  All he could voice were animal cries and an occasional sob, and his lower body _writhing_ to meet each of Loki’s thrusts.  He had never seen him quite like this, and he was very much in awe of Clint’s sudden show of abandon.  It had to have been the alcohol; he couldn’t see him letting go like this on his own, he was too much in control of himself.

_This creature belongs to me,_ Loki thought in wonder, watching the flex and pull of muscles beneath Clint’s skin as he moved against him, as if even this much would never be enough. _He is mine because he_ chooses _to be.  And I will_ never _let him or anyone else forget that._

Loki’s hands left their place at Clint’s hips, sliding along his flanks to circle around his back.  With a growl, he heaved the archer up until he was straddling his lap, and finally, _finally,_ he was as deep inside of him as he could be.

Clint’s eyes snapped open, glazed and darkened with lust, and he looked down into Loki’s, just as dark, just as hazy with want.

” _Mine,_ " the god rumbled.  Clint could feel it in his gut.

"God, yes," Clint panted.  "All yours.  Every fucking piece of me."

Loki gave a slight nod, a pleased smile spreading across his face.  

"Then I shall _take_ what’s mine,” he growled, snapping his hips up and dragging a full fledged scream from the archer.

Clint’s buried his hands in the ebony fall of Loki’s hair, holding on for dear life as the god plunged and withdrew between his spread thighs.  His cries spiraled up, up, up until his voice cracked, and the tension at the base of his spine drew ever tighter.

"Loki," Clint gasped.  "Oh _fuck_ , Loki…I’m gonna…”

"I know," the god cut in, circling his hips and grinding deeper.

"God _damn_ it,” the archer groaned, dropping his head forward to rest against Loki’s shoulder.  ”Don’t you dare fucking stop!”

Loki tightened his hold around Clint’s back, holding his Hawk to him as he thrust faster, drawing out the needy little cries he loved so very much.  He felt the tremors running through the solid frame in his grasp and heard the hitch in the archer’s breathing a split second before a wet heat bloomed between them.

Clint’s body clamped down around the god’s length, and he voiced a ragged, muffled cry against the god’s shoulder.  Loki sucked in a harsh, hissing breath in return, hips giving a stuttering thrust as he drew closer to the edge of release.

"Fill me up," Clint murmured in a dazed, fucked-out tone.  "Give me that last little bit of you.  I wanna _feel_ it.”

Loki’s eyes clenched shut and he turned his face into the crook of Clint’s throat, nuzzling against the archer’s frantic pulse.  He breathed deeply of the scent of his Hawk; sweat and come and blood and _life_ …a shared life, intertwined.  

And as the wave of his orgasm crested and broke, Loki’s hand slid up Clint’s spine to splay low on his skull, cradling the other man to him as he emptied himself deep within.

Clint’s legs tightened around Loki’s waist, his fingers gripped his hair and held fast as he felt the pulsing heat of Loki’s release within him.  He blamed the alcohol for the sudden choke in his breath and the sting of tears in his eyes.  His next breath out held a hint of a whimper that he desperately tried to hold back before Loki could hear it.

"Clint?" came the worried mutter in his ear, and he knew he’d been caught.

Rather than answer, Clint just held on tighter, as if trying to climb inside his skin.

It seemed he wouldn’t be deterred that easily.  “Have I hurt you?” he asked, and Clint felt his arms uncoiling as if to release him.

"No," Clint said hurriedly, voice muffled against the side of his neck.  "You’re perfect, shut up."

A short, amused huff gusted over his shoulder, but he didn’t let go.  Clint was grateful.

"I am glad you think so," was Loki’s quiet reply.

Clint gave a small, pleased hum.  “Wanna stay like this for a bit.  ‘Kay?”  His voice was low and drowsy, with still just a hint of a drunken slur.

"Wouldn’t you rather lie down?" Loki prompted.  "I cannot imagine this is very comfortable."  Even as he said it, Loki’s fingers began combing through short, sandy hair.  He gave a small smile as the action caused Clint’s muscles to melt, and he leaned heavily into Loki’s embrace.

"Mmmh," was all Clint could manage to say, and Loki couldn’t be sure if he was agreeing or simply reacting to his touch.

Finally, Loki decided to lay them both down, since he could tell Clint would be of no help.  He didn’t protest when Loki lowered him to the bed, nor when he whispered a few words to clean them both and drew the covers up to his shoulders.  He _did_ make an unhappy sound when Loki left the bed, and his arms reached out as if to draw him back, though his eyes remained closed.

"You will thank me for this in the morning," Loki said as he came back with a pitcher full of water.  He set it on the bedside table before sliding under the covers beside his Hawk, who wrapped his arms and legs around him like a serpent.

"Thanks," he mumbled, half-asleep already.

Clint nuzzled against Loki’s shoulder, dropping lazy kisses on the god’s skin before adding drowsily, “Love you…so fucking much.”

"As I love you," Loki returned, lacing his fingers through Clint’s and squeezing briefly.  "But now you _must_ rest.  We have a long and trying day ahead of us, and you will need every bit of your strength.”

"Yes, sir," Clint murmured.  "Don’ worry, Princess…we got this."

Loki stroked his fingertips up and down his Hawk’s forearm, holding his silence as the archer’s breathing deepened into true sleep.  He replayed Clint’s words again and again, trying to convince himself that there was no cause for alarm; that all would indeed work out for the best.  

But in the back of his mind, a seed of worry bloomed, and he puzzled over what Idunn had in store for them.  He wondered if they would come through it unscathed, and how high of a price she planned to exact in return for her assistance…if she saw fit to help them at all.

With a heavy sigh, Loki untangled himself from Clint’s grasp turned to face the slumbering archer.  Clint muttered in his sleep, his brows drawing together in a frown, and Loki slid his fingers into the other man’s hair, stroking lightly until his Hawk quieted.

"Rest well," Loki whispered.  "All will be well on the morrow."

And then the god shut his eyes, hoping with all of his being that there was nothing but truth in his words.

  



End file.
